I was trying to be comfortable in a hammock slung under the boughs of the maple, and Ellery was trying to be comfortable in another hammock slung under other boughs, but neither of us was making a success of it, although he was fitfully sleeping. There is something unmistakably enticing in the thought of depending, cool and free from a leafy arbour while the summer moon watches over one’s slumbers, and the lulling breezes croon one to unconsciousness, but loyal as I am to Clover Lodge and its vicinity, I am more loyal to truth, and that night was a night to be remembered for years even as the blizzard is remembered—but for opposite reasons. The air was still, but the mosquitoes were not and neither were my guests. I could hear them stirring and slapping and I feared that some of them were cursing, and I longed for dawn with all my heart. Dawn and the hot day that would follow in its wake, for at least we could escape to some lofty point, where the mosquitoes would not follow us. I knew that Tom and Benedict were used to all sorts of experiences, and I knew their wives too well to think for a moment that they would hold me responsible for the night and the winged pests, but Hepburn— Hepburn had been raised in the lap of luxury, and when I thought of his tall form accommodating itself to the ornate but contracted sofa, I felt so uncomfortable that I thought of going in and asking him to swap couches with me—and change discomfort. I fell into a doze, from which I was awakened by hearing a step on the gravelled path. I was wide awake in an instant. Between me and the moon was outlined the tall form of Hepburn, fully clothed and smoking a cigar. “Is that you, Mr. Hepburn?” said I. “Yes,” said he, softly, so as to awaken no one else. “Did I wake you? Pardon me.” “Oh, that’s all right. But why are you up and dressed?” “Why,” said he, very glibly, “the night is so beautiful and bright that it seems a sin to sleep, don’t you know. I thought I’d stroll about a bit.” My conscience smote me. “It was that sofa, wasn’t it?” “Don’t say a word. Sofa’s awfully jolly, but I think I drank too much coffee.” “What’s the matter?” said Ellery, waking up. “What do you say to a swim?” said I. “When?” said Ellery, sleepily. “Why, now. How does it strike you, Mr. Hepburn?” “Great.” Ellery, still half asleep, rubbed his eyes and then saw Hepburn for the first time. “Why, is it as early as that?” said he. “Earlier,” said Hepburn, which was not so bad.